


The Art Of Undressing

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Biting, Clothed Sex, Fingerfucking, M/M, Marking, Massage, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes tries to convince Watson to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Of Undressing

He is in the process of packing away the last of his books as Holmes opens the door to his study.  He leans against the door frame, his hair dishevelled, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and watches Watson with slightly narrowed eyes. Pursing his lips disapprovingly at the boxes taking up space in the half-empty room.

 

“I see you’re almost done,” the subtle twitch of his jaw in the otherwise perfectly controlled face could almost have gone unnoticed.

 

Watson nods curtly and continues collecting the various journals and notebooks that have accumulated during his time at Baker Street, “I should be gone by the end of the week.”

 

He does his best to ignore the hurt in Holmes’ eyes, swallowing down the urge to wrap him into a warm embrace and keep him safe. He turns his back to Holmes to make a neat stack of books on his desk and instantly realizes his mistake as Holmes’ hands on his wrists still his motions.

 

Holmes threads his fingers through Watson’s, gently pressing them down on the table top and rests his head between Watson’s shoulder blades. He exhales shakily against the fabric of Watson’s shirt and tightens his hold on Watson’s hands, stepping impossibly closer until Watson is trapped between Holmes warm body and the edge of the desk pressing uncomfortably against his groin.

 

“Don’t,” Holmes’ voice is rough and pleading.

 

“If you’re so fond of my books feel free to keep them,” Watson tries to laugh it off in vain.

 

“You know what I mean,” Holmes sounds very small and quiet, even as he wraps himself around Watson.

 

Watson lets his head drop forward and sighs, exhausted. For lack of things to say he wraps Holmes’ arms around his chest, keeping them pinned there with his own. He has to smile as he feels Holmes standing on his toes to be able to kiss the back of his head, rubbing his nose against Watson’s hair.

 

“You know that I love you, don’t you?” Holmes asks the soft spot behind Watson’s ear, before burying his face in Watson’s shirt.

 

“Holmes...” his voice is hoarse and pained, “I don’t...” he’s not sure what he even meant to say in the first place.

 

“Shh,” Holmes kisses the side of his neck, “Don’t say anything.”

 

So Watson doesn’t say anything and closes his eyes instead, swallowing hard as Holmes pins his hands to the desk and kisses along his jaw. Holmes wraps his arms around Watson’s torso, palms rubbing Watson’s chest through his shirt, as he buries his face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

 

Watson tries to protest as Holmes starts unbuttoning his shirt, but Holmes simply shushes him and continues gently slipping the buttons from their holes, lightly nipping at Watson’s earlobe. Watson doesn’t protest as Holmes suckles on the fragile skin at his pulse point.

 

He doesn’t protest when Holmes rakes his nails down his chest, leaving tingling trails in his wake. Doesn’t protest when Holmes grips his biceps as he slips Watson’s shirt just a few inches down and kiss-bites along the newly exposed flesh, gently kissing the scar on Watson’s shoulder, almost in passing. Holmes groans against the junction of his shoulder and bites down hard. Watson gasps and shudders against him, the pain transforming into an insistent throb in his groin.

 

Holmes makes an approving sound against Watson’s jaw before licking a quickly cooling trail from his chin to his ear, taste buds sliding over salty, prickly skin before sucking on Watson’s ear lobe until he keens low in his throat. Watson’s trousers become more and more uncomfortable as his cock responds to Holmes’ touches, making the fabric stretch tightly over his crotch.

 

Pushing Watson’s shirt down to his elbows, Holmes dips his head and nips at Watson’s left shoulder blade, rubbing the tense muscles on either side of his spine with his thumbs. Watson groans and arches his back as Holmes calloused, warm hands coax the tension out of his back while kissing along his neck.

 

Holmes slips Watson’s shirt the rest of the way down his arms and lets it fall to the floor. His hands fly to Watson’s hips to encourage the gentle thrusts and undulations of his pelvis that Watson isn’t even conscious of making. Holmes presses himself flush against Watson’s back, the fabric of his shirt scrubbing over Watson’s bare skin. He hums approvingly against the side of Watson’s neck as Watson tilts his head. Watson moans as Holmes rocks his hips forward, effectively pressing his clothed erection against Watson’s arse and pushing Watson’s throbbing cock harder against the edge of the table.

 

Watson suddenly feels hot. Too hot. Like he’s suffocating, drowning in hot water, choking on his own burning breath, or on Holmes’ breath. He’s not entirely sure. Can’t be sure. Not with Holmes rubbing against him in earnest like a cat in heat, burning against him even through his clothes, fingers digging into the soft skin of his hips, his thighs pressed tightly against the backs of Watson’s, mouthing his neck and shoulders, making throaty noises of pleasure. He feels the sweat gathering on his flushed skin, making it slick and salty, leaving Holmes to lick it clean.

 

As Holmes’ hands leave his hips to rub and pinch his aching nipples, Watson is convinced he can’t take this anymore. Rhythmically pressing his still clothed cock against the desk’s edge only serves to make the throbbing grow painful and he can feel the pre-come oozing from the swollen head, a wet patch growing on his trousers. But as he is about to undo his fly, Holmes’ sinks his teeth into the flesh of his neck. The pain is immediate and not entirely unpleasant. It serves its purpose and distracts him as his entire being concentrates on the hard, unrelenting sucking of Holmes’ mouth, the assaulted skin slowly going painfully numb. Leaving Holmes to pin his hands to the desk as he cries out and shudders helplessly.

 

Holmes releases the abused, deep red skin, but not before catching it between his teeth and pulling gently, making Watson jerk against him as the taste of warm, liquid copper fills his mouth and paints his lips red. He pants heavily against Watson’s neck, saliva, blood and sweat mingling in an oddly tempting mixture and he can’t quite help running his tongue over the tendons and muscles once more as he rests his sweaty head on Watson’s shoulder.

 

“Now, now, Watson, we wouldn’t want this to be over quite yet, would we?” his voice is a breathless, hot whisper against Watson’s skin. “I have other plans for you.” Holmes rolls his hips against Watson’s arse for emphasis, groaning softly.

 

“Holmes, _please_,” Watson pleads through gritted teeth even as he lets his head fall back to give Holmes better access to his jaw.

 

“Mmmm,” is Holmes response. He kisses Watson’s jaw before whispering into his ear, “Don’t move. And don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to.”

 

The timbre and pitch of Holmes’ voice remind Watson of other encounters between them, conjures up darker images and memories behind his closed lids and leaves him breathless for a moment, a strangled groan clawing its way up his throat.

 

Holmes chuckles and gently slaps Watson’s hip before fluently dropping to his knees behind him. He presses a kiss to the small of Watson’s back as he drags his fingernails across Watson’s lower stomach, just above his trousers. He lets his fingers dip beneath the waistband, curling them gently as Watson moans and pushes his pelvis forward. Holmes retracts his hand and unbuttons Watson’s trousers, slowly dragging them down his hips, smiling at Watson’s groan as his pulsing cock springs free, wet with pre-come and aching.

 

He kisses the backs of Watson’s thighs as he sweeps his trousers down and lets them pool around his ankles. Holmes sits back on his haunches, looking Watson up and down with slightly parted, damp lips, breathing heavily, pupils blown. He takes in the tremble of Watson’s arms as his hands are clenched on the edge of the desk, the slight dampness of his skin, making it glisten in the lamplight, the flushed cheeks and neck, the purplish mark he left on Watson’s neck, still oozing blood, the straining cock, twitching against his stomach and the soft, smooth curve of his arse.

 

Holmes cups Watson’s arse in one hand while the other travels up his calf, raising goose bumps along the way. Watson shivers and makes a desperate little sound in the back of his throat. Holmes parts Watson’s thighs as wide as he thinks Watson can take without having to put too much weight on his bad leg. He kisses the soft spot just below Watson’s right buttock, licking a trail to the inside of his thigh. Watson gasps and jerks slightly, but doesn’t protest.

 

Holmes gently nips at the underside of one buttock, both hands coming up to cup and knead Watson’s arse. Watson groans and arches his back and neck, moaning upwards, towards the ceiling, the sky, heavens, he isn’t entirely sure. Holmes runs his fingers up and down the crevice of Watson’s arse in a tantalizing rhythm as he mouths Watson’s balls, making him curse and groan. He moves to the hot, damp skin of Watson’s perineum then, extending his tongue to slowly lick a wet trail from just behind his sac almost all the way to his entrance. Watson is breathing heavily above him, incoherent, eyes shut and mouth gone slack.

 

However, as Holmes parts Watson’s cheeks with his thumbs, peeling him open and breathes hotly against his quivering hole, Watson’s eyes snap open and he swallows hard, a dry click in the still air.

 

“Holmes...what are you...?” he croaks, half-heartedly, craning his neck to look at Holmes, kneeling behind him, thumbs still holding his cheeks apart.

 

“Shh, let me. Just close your eyes and relax. You’ll like it, I promise.” He assures Watson with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a crooked smile.

 

So Watson obeys and closes his eyes. Holmes returns his attention to Watson’s arse and even though he half expected it, Watson still cries out at the first touch of the tip of Holmes’ tongue against his puckered hole, his entire body jerking violently. Holmes simply tightens his grip on Watson and alternates between broad licks from Watson’s perineum to the small of his back and back again and circling his entrance with the tip of his tongue until Watson is reduced to a panting, shivering mess above him.

 

Rivulets of sweat trickle down Watson’s spine and pool just above the curve of his arse, only to be licked away by Holmes, while his cock pulses and twitches, painfully hard and dripping by now. It’s not until he starts pushing back against Holmes’ tongue, wordlessly begging for more, that Holmes gently probes at Watson’s entrance with the tip of his tongue. Watson gasps loudly as Holmes pushes his tongue just a fraction inside. But it’s not enough. The urge to have Holmes fill him up, have Holmes fuck him with his tongue, his fingers, his cock is overwhelming. Most of all he wants Holmes’ tongue inside of him though, the act seeming somewhat perverse, forbidden and disgusting, making it all the more appealing.

 

“_Please_,” Watson finally begs, half moan, half sob as he rocks himself back against Holmes’ mouth.

 

Without further hesitation Holmes thrusts his tongue past the ring of muscle at Watson’s entrance, one powerful muscle pushing against another, and all the way inside, making Watson howl and writhe against him, body jerking in Holmes’ grip, clenching and unclenching convulsively around his tongue.

 

Holmes retracts his tongue, groaning softly as Watson whines above him, before forcefully pushing it back inside, creating a rhythm that has Watson’s mouth wide open, screaming without sound, knuckles white as he clutches at the desk. He feels violated, dirty, depraved and utterly vulnerable as Holmes fucks him with his tongue.

 

Watson unconsciously spreads his shaking legs a little wider as Holmes starts palming his balls, fingernails digging into his buttock as Holmes’ teeth and tongue stretch him. Holmes breaks away with an obscene smacking noise to bite at Watson’s arse and push two fingers into him, meeting no resistance. He twists and scissors them before inserting a third and licking sloppily, wetly around Watson’s entrance as he fingers him. Watson rocks himself back onto Holmes’ fingers and tongue, hot and sweaty and completely debauched – just the way Holmes likes him.

 

The reaction as Holmes crooks his fingers at just the right angle is immediate. Watson gasps and groans and jerks and pushes back harder against Holmes. The skin of Watson’s cock is stretched painfully tight over his straining erection and he is desperate to touch himself, fist his cock, rub his thumb over the tip, pump it hard and fast and come with Holmes fingers and tongue still inside him.

 

And just as he thinks it’s all too much Holmes tells him to _do it, touch yourself,_ before returning his attention to Watson’s arse. Watson’s hand flies to his cock, wet and hot as he closes his fist around it, groaning at the sparks of pleasure that shoot through him. Holmes extracts his fingers then and Watson doesn’t even have time to whimper at the loss before Holmes thrusts one finger back inside along with his tongue, pressing down on his prostate while his tongue slides in and out.

 

And it _is _too much then; Holmes furiously rubbing his prostate, tongue fucking him harder with every thrust, cupping and rolling his balls in his palm, moaning against him as he rubs himself against Watson’s leg, still wearing all his clothes, sweaty and flushed like Watson himself. And the thought that even now, on his knees, his tongue up Watson’s arse, fucking himself against Watson’s calf, Holmes is in control, sets Watson off.

 

Before Watson can quite comprehend or stroke his cock even once, he is coming. His whole body tight, muscles trembling and shaking, come landing on the desk, the books, some trickling down his shaft and over his balls, while he clenches hard around Holmes’ finger and tongue, as pleasure rips through him and makes his vision blur and his ears ring.

 

Holmes continues to thrust his tongue in and out of Watson until the last waves and tremors of his orgasm have subsided. He groans softly as he pulls out and rests his sweaty head against Watson’s trembling thigh, breathing hard, a dark, wet stain growing between his thighs.

 

He pulls Watson down to the floor and kisses him sloppily before he leans down and nuzzles his soft, sensitive cock and balls, licking his skin clean and biting playfully at his upper thigh.  Their breaths are harsh and ragged as Holmes rests his head in Watson’s naked lap, his trousers come stained and clammy, Watson’s still around his ankles.

 

“I love you, too, you know,” Watson whispers as he combs his fingers through Holmes’ sweaty hair and Holmes turns his head to kiss Watson’s wrist. They stay like that for a while, neither of them saying anything else.

 

Holmes doesn’t ask Watson to stay again. He also doesn’t tell him that he loves him again. Neither does Watson. Watson simply continues packing the last of his possessions. Holmes does keep the books and the desk, though.


End file.
